A Dangerous Passion
by BertrandBatBabe
Summary: A mysterious killer is stalking the streets of Victorian London. The Guild's efforts to stop the murderer are complicated when the Draculas make their debut in society. The beautiful but unconventional Erin Noble finds herself strangely drawn to Vlad but passion may prove more deadly than she could ever have imagined... Victorian AU with all characters. Slayer!Erin. Dark!Vlad.
1. Chapter 1

**So yeah, something a bit different and weird. Inspired by something I saw on Tumblr. I'm going to bring in all the characters from both Stokely and Garside. I hope you like it!**

**Chapter 1**

"STOP!" At Erin's shout, the darkly cloaked figure lifted their head, eyes gleamed red in the soft glow of the gas lamps. A flash of silver caught the light as a sharp knife glided back into the folds of their costume. By the time, Erin reached the woman's lifeless body it was too late. The creature had disappeared into the yellow fog which always lingered in the streets of Whitechapel. Blood was steadily creeping over the filthy stones of the street. As Erin doubled up, panting for breath, a sharp stabbing pain in her side warned her that she was getting out of shape. The heavy thud of boots and the rasping of another person's breath let her know that another slayer had arrived.

"You shouldn't have gone ahead!"

Inwardly, Erin groaned at the sound of Jonathan's voice. Slowly, she straightened up and looked her fiancé in the eye. "I'm fine!"

Jonathan reached forward to brush a lock of hair away from her face. "I worry." His dark eyes were filled with concern and love.

It made Erin breathless. But for all the wrong reasons. She felt trapped when he looked at her like that. Trapped because he loved her so much and she just couldn't feel that way about him. Jonathan was like a brother to her. She desperately wished that she could somehow change the way she felt towards him. Jonathan was such a good man, kind, honourable and best of all he understood what it meant to be a slayer. Which was exactly why he deserved better than her. He deserved a wife who would wait patiently at home for him, who would have the tea ready and waiting, who felt something other than friendship when he touched her.

"Like I said I'm fine." She poked the dead body with her foot. "Unlike this poor soul. Another victim for Jack." Her voice was filled with bitterness. Out of anyone in the Guild, Erin Noble understood what it meant to lose someone to the supernatural.

Jonathan grimaced with disgust. "I wish you wouldn't use that name," he said reprovingly. "It's just a cheap gimmick made up by the papers to sell more copies." He fished out a pocket watch from his jacket. "You had better get back. We're having dinner with the Branaghs this evening and you take considerably longer than me to get ready." He gave her a cheeky grin. He knew how much she hated dinner parties. All the polite conversation, rich food and restrictive social conventions drove her insane. Not to mention having to squeeze herself into whatever ridiculous and painful costume counted as fashion these days.

"The peelers will be here any minute," Erin pointed out. She knew she sounded peevish but she couldn't help herself. Sometimes, her jealousy got the better of her. She envied her fiancé's freedom. He was an ambitious, young slayer with a bright future ahead of him. All she had to look forward to was bearing children and keeping a tidy household.

"I can deal with them." Jonathan returned the pocket watch to his coat. He leant forward and brushed his lips against her cheek. "Keep safe."

* * *

Erin regarded herself carefully in the mirror before entering the dining room. The dark blue of her evening gown contrasted beautifully with her smooth creamy skin and sleek blonde hair. It wasn't a conventional colour for a young woman to wear but Erin knew what suited her best. It was dinner parties like this that made her truly grateful she had Jonathan for a fiancée. No doubt Ian and Paul would slobbering over her as usual. Erin wasn't being vain; she knew perfectly well that Ian and Paul reacted that way to any young lady sat at their table. That's what made it so grating. It wasn't as if Paul or Ian actually liked her for who she was. They liked her because she was a pretty ornament.

Dinner proceeded as usual. Ian and Paul tried to outdo each other with increasingly extravagant compliments. Mina and Elizabeth were engrossed in a conversation about their latest charitable endeavour. Mr Van Helsing and Mr Branagh speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Erin suspected that they were discussing the latest news on Jack the Ripper's latest victim. If only the pompous Mr Branagh knew the truth; that the youngest woman sitting at his table, daintily sipping her wine had been chasing that very same murderer just a few hours ago. He would probably implode with shock and moral outrage. Particularly if he knew that she had been wearing trousers.

The thought made her giggle and she almost choked on her wine. Ian and Paul were instantly all over her. She was pretty sure that Paul's hand had just deliberately brushed over her breast. "I'm perfectly dry, thank you!" she said through gritted teeth.

A cold gust of air rushed into the room as the door swung open. Erin felt a shiver go right through her body. It was as if someone had walked over her grave. "Elizabeth," a voice cried out, arrogance and breeding seeping into every vowel, "My most humble and sincere apologies for being late." The man swept into the room with almost unnatural speed, his dark hair flowing freely around his shoulder. He lifted Elizabeth's hand to his mouth and kissed it theatrically.

Elizabeth seemed entranced. "Oh, not at all!" She gestured towards the empty dishes dispersed across the table. "I'm afraid we've almost finished."

"I hope we are in time for dessert." Erin's head snapped around in the direction of the voice. A younger man was lounging against the doorframe in a most disreputable fashion. His blue-green eyes met Erin's and she felt a jolt of electricity. "I can never resist anything sweet."

* * *

**Thanks for reading.  
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	2. Chapter 2

_**Wow! Just wow! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed or favourited this fic! Thank you for all your lovely comments but I should say that it was this tumblr link which inspired me: **youngdracula. tumblr page/ 13 **and it was redrachxo who gave me the idea of using Jack the Ripper.**_

**Chapter 2**

Erin had never seen anyone eat a trifle quite like Vladimir Dracula. At first glance, there was absolutely nothing extraordinary about the way that man devoured a dessert but if you peered closer, very much like she was doing now, there was something sensuous about the way his mouth closed around the tip of his spoon. His tongue seemed to caress the silver of the spoon as he licked up every last drop of cream. His eyes, clear pools of vivid blue, fastened onto hers as he caught her scrutinising him. Startled, Erin immediately looked away, focusing her attention on the family portrait which hung on the wall behind him. She could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks, staining them red. When she finally thought it was safe to glance back at the younger of the two Draculas, she found he was still watching her. A smirk curling up the corners of his mouth, he deliberately ran his tongue over the curve of the spoon, a provocative gesture which suddenly made her corset seem much too tight.

Hastily, she turned back to the conversation taking place between Count Dracula and the rest of the table. The Count was draped over his chair in an almost roguish fashion, as if it was too much effort for him to sit upright. His laughter rang out as if he were attending a theatrical show instead of a prim and proper dinner. "Oh Ingrid?" He said the name with immense distaste. "In Venice at the moment. No doubt, she'll turn up when it suits her."

"Venice?" Elizabeth Branagh frowned with concern. "I heard that they were experiencing a most unusual plague."

The Count shrugged nonchalantly, a nasty gleam entering his icy eyes. "Yes, and now they have that mysterious fever to worry about as well."

An awkward silence followed the Count's words. No-one was quite sure how to respond to such an unpleasant statement. Erin's hands clenched angrily around the smooth fabric of her skirts. She didn't know who this Ingrid was, but it seemed wrong for the Count to speak of her so disparagingly.

"Please ignore my father." Vladimir Dracula laughed lightly. "Transylvanian humour doesn't translate well into the English language." The Count wore a look of outrage, it seemed as if he were going to speak again but his son shot him a look of such menace Erin was surprised that the older man didn't drop dead on the spot. "I'm certain you are all looking forward to the arrival of my sister. She is possibly the most beautiful woman in the world." He tilted his wine glass towards Ian and Paul. "I can promise she is to die for."

* * *

The blood and grime instantly transformed the bowl of clear water into a red soup. The carbolic soap stank to high heaven as Robin scrubbed viciously at his hands. Tonight had been too good an opportunity to pass up. It wasn't often that a medical student got the opportunity to assist with a dissection, particularly one as gory as this. Out of all the medical students in his year, Robin knew he had the strongest stomach. Doctor Seward could rely on him to keep the contents of his tea exactly where it should be – in his own damn body thank you very much. It also helped of course that Robin understand the importance of discretion in a case as high profile as this one.

As he dried his hands on a crisp white towel, Robin's gaze was drawn to the greenish bottles sitting on the shelf above him. There were three of them; the dark blood of the murder victim had been poured into them only an hour ago along with some powdery substance that prevented the blood from coagulating. Robin wondered if they were going to be used as Vlad's dinner or for some bizarre experiment by Renfield. At the thought of dinner, his own stomach rumbled loudly. Perhaps he would grab a meat pie from one of the street vendors before heading home to face his father's wrath for missing yet another dry and boring dinner party.

Robin rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and began fastening his cufflinks. When he was done with that fiddly task he tugged on his frockcoat. It was a dank and miserable night outside, he would be grateful for the extra layer of warmth. Carefully, he lifted down the three bottles of blood and tucked them into his bag. After all the trouble, he and Doctor Seward had gone through to procure this blood, it wouldn't do for Robin to accidentally smash them.

The sight of a magnificent horse and carriage waiting outside as he exited Doctor Seward's surgery was most welcome. The black feather plumes and gleaming red crest contrasted sharply with the scruffy driver who appeared to be picking his nose.

"Mister Robin?" A plaintive voice caused Robin to turn to his right where a small boy stood barefoot and shivering.

Robin sighed wearily. "Which one is it this time?"

* * *

That night as she sat down to perform her daily beauty routine, Erin found herself thinking of Count Dracula's son. Those eyes with their changing shades of blue and green, his exquisite mouth, those full lips hinting somehow at a cruel streak, the sharply cut cheekbones that she would simply die to run her fingers over. She half laughed at the direction of her thoughts. It wasn't like her to start day dreaming over some stranger she had just met at a dinner party. She had always considered herself above such trivial things; in any case it was disloyal to think such thoughts about Vladimir Dracula when she had a fiancé as loving and loyal as Jonathan.

Such a pity then that Jonathan couldn't make shivers race down her spine with just the briefest touch of his lips against her skin, the way Vladimir Dracula had done when he pressed his mouth to her hand as a farewell gesture. His lips had been deliciously cold against her hot, flustered skin...

Erin slammed her hairbrush down on the dressing table. No, it simply wouldn't do to have these thoughts, it wouldn't do at all.

**Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you are still interested. Sorry for the delay in updating. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to favourite, follow or review! I'm very sorry about the delay- life has been crazy! Short chapter but I'm just trying to set the scene before getting into the plot. Hope you enjoy it and my interpretation of Vlad. I promise he will get darker and that I will promise to try and update more often. **

**Chapter 3**

Bertrand du Fortunesa glanced up from his paperwork as Vlad and the Count strolled into the study. The younger of the two Draculas tossed his cape aside before throwing himself onto the softest sofa available. The Count didn't even raise an eyebrow at this self-indulgent behaviour; instead he picked up an empty glass and gave it a searing look of displeasure before bellowing for his manservant. Bertrand sometimes wished that the Count would show more discipline towards his precious son, there was no excuse for such untidiness. "How was your dinner party?"

"Boring!" The Count declared before Vlad even had a chance to speak. "Not so much as a decent nibble." He tossed his long, black hair out of the way so he could give his son a baleful look. "I understand that you won't let me eat the Branaghs because of some sense of misplaced loyalty towards that boy but feasting on the van Helsings is practically a family tradition!" He glanced around with increasing displeasure. "Where is that disgusting snotbag?"

"He hasn't returned from collecting Robin." Bertrand took a sip of his own glass of blood, making a show of deliberately savouring it in order to provoke the Count's temper.

Vlad straightened up slightly. "Robin's not here yet?"

The Count slammed his glass down. "This is ridiculous!" he cried, "What am I supposed to do? Serve myself?"

The Chosen One rolled his eyes at this usual display of theatrics from his father. "Get me a glass while you're at it?"

The Count shot him a glare. "That's it," he said stiffly, straightening his cape, "I'm eating out." He sped out of the room.

Vlad gazed after his father with amusement before turning his attention back to his valet. "Pass me the bottle Bertrand." He held his hand out, barely bothering to shift from his position on the sofa.

"No." Bertrand turned back to his papers. "It's unhygienic, not to mention uncivilised, to drink straight from the bottle. And fetch it yourself Your Grandness." Despite his grumpy mood, a low chuckle escaped Bertrand's lips as the bottle, previously resting on his desk, began to hover slowly in the air, heading in the direction of his protégé. He caught it easily and poured himself another glass before handing it over.

Vlad accepted it gratefully, a smile lighting up his face as he noted the exceptional vintage. "Your good taste never fails to impress." He took a deep gulp, savouring the sensation of the thick, cool liquid on his tongue before it flowed down his throat, quenching the thirst that was sometimes all he could think about.

Bertrand turned around properly in his chair so that he could face his master before repeating his earlier question. "How was the dinner party?"

Vlad took another gulp before answering. "Interesting," he replied with a slight smirk. "One of the slayers was female."

Bertrand regarded him warily. "And?" he prompted.

Vlad's smirk deepened as he sank back into the softness of the cushions. "Blonde. Pretty. _Definitely _interesting."

It was Bertrand's turn to take a sharp gulp of blood. "Not again."

Vlad gave him a look of false innocence. "I have no idea what you mean," he replied airily.

Bertrand fixed him with a stern look. "The last time you dabbled with such a slayer, we had to use an earthquake to cover up the damage." He shook his head in consternation, he couldn't quite grasp how they managed to cause so much devastation to one city but he was certain that San Francisco was now a no-go area as far the Draculas were concerned.

Vlad let out a contented sigh. "Oh but Buffy was such good sport." A slightly dreamy look passed over his handsome features before he caught sight of the grim look in his valet's eyes. "Oh Bertrand, don't you ever get bored of being so dull?"

"Somebody has to clear up after you," Bertrand said sourly.

There was a light knock at the door before it was opened with a flourish by an oddly dressed butler. Renfield, as ever, had grasped the concept of wearing a uniform but had failed to apply it with style. Was it too much to expect him to at least button his shirt?

"Master Vlad, you have a visitor-" he began pompously before a dark haired, dark eyed young man impatiently pushed past him, a look of joy spreading across his pale face as he caught sight of the vampire on the sofa.

"Vlad!" "Robin!" Despite the obvious dangers, and the clear breach of etiquette, Vlad leapt off the sofa and gathered the breather into his arms for a tight hug, their mutual delight at seeing each other overcoming any artificial barriers of class, race or protocol.

"Why are you so late?" Vlad demanded as he stepped back to assess his friend for any signs of injury or distress.

An awkward look passed over Robin's face. "Um, yes, about that?" He turned his head slowly in the direction of the door, forcing out a weak laugh, as he gestured towards the dishevelled woman standing there, her bright blue eyes full of disapproval as she surveyed the scene before.

"Chloe Branagh," Vlad's gaze trailed appreciatively over the curves of his former childhood friend before his lips parted in a lascivious grin, "Haven't you blossomed!"

**Thank you for reading!**


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